My Hummingbird
Not even the canary can stand its beauty,
Though, eagle; lord over the skies -
Not one deems low the awe of the hummingbird,
My hummingbird.
The loving sounds hums,
Heavenly host rejoice at its humming,
The awe of its love in me,
I cannot fathom.
The awe of its ire of love,
My soul, burns, crave for it,
Yet, not a single ink to pen on the marshy field!
Awe of love is known by none?
Essence of love isn't realised by true men?
I shall wrestle like the spartacus of old,
Persians shall fear my name,
More than the three a hundred.
When I sing with the hummingbird every morning
Then shall my field grow green grass,
My hummingbird.
The colour coastal to eyes,
Yet, offers more like the patriarch!
Arwen shall return,
When hummed, the sound of one is,
My hummingbird.
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